


Captured

by Karasu888



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Blood Magic, M/M, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-29 11:01:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6372217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karasu888/pseuds/Karasu888
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What does the Inquisitor do when he find out his Clan has been taken by Tevinter slavers?  Kestrel struggles with how to act and with the doubt that Dorian had something to do with his people being caught.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It drives me crazy how bad a villain Corypheus is. He's so "professional" about it all. I wish he made it more personal, hence this story.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

The light streamed through the stained glass windows and encroached upon the face of the Inquisitor.  He groaned and lifted his head, using the palm of one hand to rub an eye and the other hand to peel a piece of paper that had become glued to his face with some dried drool.  He blinked back the sleepiness and released a noisy yawn, almost drowning out a soft knock at the bottom of the stairs that led up to his room. 

“Come in,” he said, running his fingers through his dark brown, half-shaved hair, attempting to look presentable.  He was answered with the soft creak of the door and footsteps.  A blonde-haired elf tentatively peeked her head over the banister. 

“Inquisitor?  You didn’t show up for breakfast so Josephine wanted me to bring you some food.” 

He smiled and waved the woman in.  “Thank you, Ibis, I’d lost track of time.” 

She arched an eyebrow and she walked into his room with a tray of food in hand, her green eyes noticing his rumpled clothes and the fading red spot on his face where it had rested on the desk.  “Another long night, sir?” 

“Quite,” he mumbled, blue eyes dropping to the messy pile of papers strewn across the massive wooden desk he sat behind.  He cleared a spot on the desk as Ibis lowered the tray in front of him.  Immediately the delicious aroma of venison stew caught his attention.  “Is this..?”

“Rumor has it it’s your favorite.”                

“How-“ he stopped short when he saw the vase with a small branch of crystal grace flowers in it.  They chimed gently as he brushed his fingers along one of the bells.  “Who?” he stuttered, looking up at Ibis. 

She shrugged.  “I’m not sure, honestly.  The chef received a letter with a recipe on it late yesterday and said it was your favorite.  It included that branch of flowers and a note to drop them off to your room.  Since you didn’t come down to breakfast, I thought I’d just include the flowers on your tray.  Now, go on, try it!  Do you like it?” 

He took a sip of the stew and closed his eye to savor the flavor.  “It tastes just like my mother used to make.” 

Ibis beamed and said cheerfully, “I’ll pass your compliments to the chef and ensure it’s added into the weekly rotation.”  He kept his eyes closed to hold back the tears that had gathered at the familiar taste.  His homesickness took his ability to speak away and he nodded in a joint response and dismissal to Ibis.  “Have a good day, Inquisitor,” she chimed as her footsteps echoed down the stairway.

 

* * *

 

 

The Inquisitor made himself more presentable before walking down the few flights of stairs to the first level of the keep.  Dignitaries and nobles lingered in the main hall, carrying conversations.  They inclined their heads and he walked by.  A few muttered a quiet “Your Worship” before returning to their discussions.  It still amazed him that these people of such high social stature and influence would bow to him, a Dalish elf and a non-believer, despite his other prescribed title as the “Herald of Andraste”.  Sometimes he wondered if they hung around just to see if he failed. 

“Kestrel?” spoke an accented voice behind him. 

A smile pulled at his lips before he turned around to the final reason he was dumbfounded that people followed him: his Tevinter lover, Dorian.  He’d already had several people approach him about “sleeping with the enemy”. 

“Hello,” he grinned, placing a hand on Dorian’s arm, mindful of all of the watchful eyes around them. 

“You didn’t make your usual rounds last afternoon.  Did you have another long night?”

“Yes.  I didn’t realize how much paperwork would be required as the ‘Herald of Andraste’,” Kestrel complained. 

“Ah…yes.  The joys of politics.” 

Kestrel wrinkled his nose in disgust of that word. 

“Your favorite, I know.  However, if something’s going to keep you from visiting me, I’d prefer it to be paperwork instead of another person occupying your time,” Dorian continued, his curled moustache twitching with the hint of a pout. 

“You know nothing short of the sky falling could keep me from you…and paperwork,” he murmured as he hand ran down Dorian’s arm, stopping briefly to squeeze his hand before dropping back to his side. 

Dorian sighed audibly, “You really must take a break, Kes.  Working through the night isn’t good for your health.  You’re going to strain those lovely blue eyes of yours. “ 

“How about tonight you join me in my room to help me with the paperwork?” Kestrel whispered suggestively.  Dorian’s brown eyes sparkled with a naughty thought as he opened his mouth to respond, yet he promptly closed his mouth when his eyes shifted over the Inquisitor’s shoulder.  Kestrel turned around to follow his gaze and noticed Cullen quickly approaching. 

Dorian huffed, “Somehow I don’t think that will be happening.”  The Inquisitor frowned and he turned around to stand next to Dorian and face the approaching Cullen. 

“Inquisitor.  Dorian,” Cullen said as he neared the two men. 

“Let me guess, Commander, the sky is falling?” jested Dorian. 

“Close.  Orzammar is requesting our assistance with a collapsed lyrium mine and released darkspawn,” stated Cullen.

“I think I’d prefer falling skies to an unstable cave with putrid beasts running around…” muttered Dorian. 

“Better start packing your bags, mage.  There’s no sky falling and not enough paperwork to keep me from bringing you with me,” chuckled Kestrel. 

Dorian narrowed his eyes at the Inquisitor before quickly closing the distance between them and lightly kissing him.  “I despise you, _amatus_ ,” he mumbled into the kiss.  Just as quickly, he pulled back with a grin, nodded to the blushing Cullen, and turned on his heels to walk away. 

Cullen shook his head, embarrassed by the sign of affection right in front of him.  He stuttered, “O-On to the war room, Inquisitor?”  Kestrel noticed all eyes of the room were on him and the room was deathly silent.  His pointed ears flushed red as he brusquely nodded to Cullen before leading the way.  He couldn’t keep the smile off of his face, though.


	2. Chapter 2

The journey back was uneventful aside from a few rogue mages and a small group of Venatori who didn’t even get past the small squad of Templars and Inquisition soldiers that were accompanying them.  When they rode along the bridge to Skyhold, Kestrel breathed a sigh of relief.  This had become his home and it welcomed him back.  Soldiers waved from the ramparts and cheered the Inquisitor’s return as the portcullis was raised.  Once the gate was lifted, the Inquisitor spotted Cullen nervously shifting from one foot to another.

“He better not keep you long from your bath,” Dorian said, noticing the Commander too.

Kestrel sighed, running his fingers briefly through his already tousled hair in frustration.  “It’s always something.  Some rift, some dragon, some bandits.  Something.  I’ll make sure that they’re aware I need at least a bath before I‘m leaving again,” he grumbled with a scowl, the pleasure of returning home fleeing as his responsibilities threatened to swamp him. 

He rode up to Cullen with the same look plastered on his face.  The Commander rubbed the back of his neck nervously, hesitating at the elf’s irritated expression. “Uh…Welcome back, Inquisitor.  I’m sorry to greet you like this but there is an urgent matter that your advisors, myself included, would like to discuss with you immediately.”

The party dismounted and went their separate ways - Varric commenting about needing some ale and to stop moving for a minute and Blackwall agreeing to join him with a few of the troops following them to the tavern - leaving Dorian and Kestrel behind with Cullen.

“Cullen, my ass is sore, I’m covered in all sorts of gunk from the Deep Roads and our travel, and I’m in desperate need of some cold ale and a warm bath.  Unless there’s a confirmed sighting of Corypheus on his way to Skyhold, I really don’t want to hear about it.”  Kestrel started to walk past the Commander but stopped suddenly at his next words.

“I understand, Inquisitor.  However, this is about your Clan.”

“What? …what happened?”

“I believe this would be better discussed in the War Room, sir.”

Dorian watched the exchange strangely quiet, finally saying, “I’ll start the bath and meet you upstairs, Kes.”

Kestrel glanced over at him and briefly nodded, too concerned to give him anything more, before following Cullen to the keep.

Cullen shut the door behind them after entering the War Room.  Josephine and Leliana waited for them, the first with a concerned expression and the later looking unusually uneasy.

“What happened?” Kestrel repeated, looking at the three of them in turn.

Leliana cleared her throat as if to speak but Josephine blurted out, “They were kidnapped!”

Leliana sighed and elaborated, “It appears Tevinter slavers attacked your clan and captured them a fortnight ago.”

“We had a scouting party outside of Wycome who encountered an elven man.  He said he was from Clan Lavellan.  He…relayed what happened before passing from his wounds,” continued Cullen, meeting the Inquisitor’s stunned gaze.

“Our scouts traveled into the forest and, after some searching, they found what was left of their camp.  The older members were killed along with a few men in Tevinter slaver fashion, not Venatori as initially thought.  There was no one else left at the camp,” finished Leliana.

Cullen added, “With so few casualties on the Tevinter side, they had to know where your Clan was to have caught them unaware.  They had to have inside information to avoid the scouts and know what path to take to even enter the forest without sounding alarms and suffering more casualties.”

“Who knew of where my Clan was?” whispered Kestrel.  Leliana’s eyes darted to his trembling hands at his sides before he clenched them into fists.  “Who?” he repeated, volume increasing.

“Only us and two trusted couriers who have carried communications back and forth a few times,” spoke-up Josephine.

“I have already questioned both couriers and neither has been asked for the information let alone provided it to anyone,” said Leliana.

“Then who the hell knew where to find my people!”  Kestrel shouted, slamming his fist on the war table.  A few of the map markers tipped over with the force.

Josephine jumped as Cullen straightened his back.  Leliana clasped her hands in front of her before quietly speaking, “Perhaps you have provided the information to someone?”

“I would nev-!” the elf challenged before stopping short.  All of the fight left him as his hands fell limply to his sides.  “He wouldn’t…” he breathed, eyes downcast.

“Did you provide the information to Dorian, Inquisitor?” questioned Leliana softly, making sure to keep an accusation out of her voice.

“Yes.  He asked how to contact them a few weeks before we left for the Deep Roads,” conceded Kestrel.  “But I highly doubt he had anything to do with this.”

“Would you like me to ask him or would you like to ask him yourself?”

“I-…I’ll handle it, Leliana.  I’m sorry I lost my temper,” he said, looking to each of them.  Cullen nodded his head and Josephine offered a weak smile.  Leliana remained still.

“I believe he really does have your best interests at heart, Inquisitor.  I’m sure it was just a mistake.”

Kestrel was at a loss of words, deep in thought.  He barely heard Josephine’s comment before he left the room and headed towards his tower.


	3. Chapter 3

“Ah!  There you are!” welcomed Dorian upon hearing the door open.  “And here I was worried you’d stood me up!”  He was already lounging in the steaming bathtub with a grin on his face.  His smile faltered when he noticed the Inquisitor’s brooding expression.  “What happened?” he asked, his playful attitude dropped as he draped his arms over the tub edge.  Water trickled from his fingertips to the rug underneath.  Kestrel shook his head, indicating he didn’t want to discuss what was upsetting him.  “Please, join me, _amatus_.  A warm bath always does you wonders,” he continued, brushing off the rejection to talk.

He acquiesced to Dorian’s request, removing his clothes one piece at a time.  He avoided the mage’s eyes even though he could feel them following his movements.  He feared that eye contact would cause him to blurt out his delicately restrained accusation.  He approached the tub which held more than enough room for two people.  Dorian extended his hand to held Kestrel step into the bath, still searching for his gaze.  He took the offered hand without thought and settled in front of Dorian, breathing a small sigh of relief that he didn’t have to face him yet.  He didn’t even notice the pleasant warmth of the water as his brow furrowed in thought.

Sensing Kestrel was not ready to talk, the mage immediately went to work rubbing the elf’s back in silence, thumbs pressing on the spots of tension that were always present from frequent bow use and that Dorian knew well.  Once he was content with the number of knots worked loose, he lifted a hand to the top of Kestrel’s head and gently tilted it back.  Pouring a cup of water on top of him with one hand, he began massaging a scented soap into the elf’s dampened hair with his other hand.  A second wash of water cascaded over his head, leaving his hair clean as Dorian’s hands continued stroking his scalp.  Kestrel felt his body relaxing against Dorian as a small groan escaped his lips, temporarily losing himself in the warmth of the bath and the comfort of his partner’s touch. 

The tip of Dorian’s nose caressed the angular line of Kestrel’s ear as he murmured, “Isn’t that better?”

Kestrel was jolted out of his tranquil state, realizing his body was betraying him and reacting to the mage’s touch.  Disgusted with himself, he separated his back from Dorian but continued to face forward.

Dorian sighed with unvoiced disappointment and leaned back too, lengthening the distance between them.

“…are elves popular slaves in Tevinter?” Kestrel quietly asked, shivering as his now-exposed damp back grew cold.

“Hm…yes.  They’re so popular, in fact, that they’re hard to find in the market place.”

“Why?”

 “They’re hard to find because there are very few free elves in Tevinter and fewer who wish to sell themselves into servitu-

“That’s not what I was asking,” interrupted Kestrel dispassionately, trembling body giving away the emotion his voice did not.

Dorian cleared his throat, knowing he was treading on sensitive ground and unsure where this conversation was leading.  However he was grateful Kestrel was speaking so he continued on.  “Why are they popular?  Well, they’re quieter than humans, typically cleaner, and…more obedient.  They’re also more appealing to the eye than most humans.”

“How many Dalish are taken from their homes to become Tevinter slaves?”

“Kes, what happened?” Dorian questioned, registering the tension and hoping to alleviate it by lightly resting his hand on the elf’s shoulder.

“You know what happened!” shouted Kestrel as he spun around nimbly in the large tub - something only an elf could hope to accomplish - to face the mage, jabbing a finger into his bare chest.  “You sold out my Clan to Tevinter slavers!”

“ _Amatus_ , please...” Dorian pleaded, reaching for the elf’s hand on his chest. 

Kestrel yanked his hand out of his grip and responded, “You were the only one who knew where my Clan was. I trusted you, Dorian.  And now my people are in the hands of your slavers!”

“You know I would never-”

“I should’ve listened when everyone warn me about you.  I didn’t think you would betray me after these past months together but you were just using me, weren’t you?  Manipulating me for your and Tevinter’s gain and to get to my people.  You’re really just an evil fucking magister.”

Confused and growing defensive, Dorian stood and stepped out of the tub, fuming silently. He furiously grabbed a towel and wrapped it around himself, finally turning back to Kestrel.  He bit out sarcastically, “You’ve really figure me out.  I must be quite impressive in bed to persuade the Inquisitor to give me his most confidential secret.” 

Kestrel stood up suddenly, face flushed, causing water to spray everywhere, especially off of his finger that pointed accusingly at the Tevinter.  “Get out!”

“Gladly!” Dorian retorted back with a scowl, snatching up his clothes.  He didn’t stay to get dressed and made sure to slam the door on his way out.

The fight immediately drained from Kestrel with the bang of the door, causing him to slump back into the tub, sloshing water over the edge.  He pulled his knees to his chest and buried his face in his hands.  “ _Halam sahlin_ ,” he muttered, face wet with unnoticed tears.  He stayed in the bath until its temperature dropped to too cold to tolerate and his skin was so wrinkled, a more unburdened person would’ve been concerned about it returning to its normal state.  Devoid of any emotions, he quickly dried himself and climbed into bed, avoiding _his_ side of the bed.

 

* * *

 

 

The next few days were a blur.  Kestrel spent them sequestered in his room which was the only way he could be sure not to see Dorian after their confrontation.  His heart ached with the betrayal but when Leliana visited him the next day to see if he wanted Dorian arrested for treason, he told her to leave the Tevinter alone.  He didn’t even wonder how she had heard about their conversation. 

He thought he heard pounding on his door the second day but ignored it until it stopped.

On the third day, Cullen visited to update him on the progress of the scouting party.  They were on the trail of the Tevinters but they had a few weeks on them.  He also informed the Inquisitor that Leliana had sent spies to the main cities in Nevarra, the Free Marches, and Antiva to keep an eye out for fresh Dalish slaves on the way to Tevinter.  There was no success so far.

By the fourth day, Kestrel had had enough of holing himself up in his room.  He was going to find out who Dorian informed and why.

He was just about to march out of his room when he heard a knock.  Since he was right by the door, he opened it to find Varric with an envelope in his hand.

“Done pouting, Your Inquisitorialness?” he quipped, stepping aside so Kestrel could stand in the hallway with him.

“I assume you heard what Dorian did, Varric.”

“I heard what you accused him of, yes.  Do you really think Sparkles would deceive you like that?” He paused, and frowned at Kestrel’s expression.  “Nevermind, I can tell what you believe.  Anyway, he wanted me to give this to you after he left,” he stated, putting one hand on his hip while the other offered the envelope to Kestrel.

“Dorian left…?” he asked, quickly opening the envelope to unveil the letter within.  It read:

 

_Kestrel,_

 

_I’m sorry we parted on such a dreadful note.  No matter what you may believe, I did not betray you.  I have left, not because I’m fleeing my guilt but because I’m attempting to prove my innocence._

_I have a contact in Tevinter who said he may know the whereabouts of your Clan.  He refused to provide the information via bird for fear of being caught as a traitor so I have gone to meet him.  I hope my next message relays good news to your beautifully pointed ears._

_Postscript - I only asked for your Clan’s location so I could write to them regarding your personal preferences in food and flowers.  I know it can be difficult to be separated from what’s familiar._

 

_Evil Magister Dorian Pavus_

 

Varric stepped back from peering around the Inquisitor to read the message upon noticing the elf’s hand crumpling the letter.  “You still believe he’s guilty?”

“This means nothing, Varric,” he choked out, gripping the letter so hard that his fingers started to turn white.  Kestrel wasn’t willing to admit he was wrong just yet and the dwarf could see that.

“Well, what do you plan on doing about it?” he asked, looking up at the Inquisitor.

Kestrel stood in silence for a minute, weighing his options.  He couldn’t sit back while others, especially Dorian, searched for his Clan.  Cullen would argue that he would be putting himself in danger, especially since they couldn’t just send enough troops to keep him adequately protected outside of their allies in Orlais and Ferelden.  Josephine would chime in that there was still time to find them since they were traveling with women and children and would have to travel around the eastern Tevinter Mountains and the northern swamps of the Free Marches before reaching the Imperium highway so there was no need to rush.  Leliana would...he had no idea what she would do.  She surprised him sometimes with what she agreed with.

“I need you to cover for me, Varric.  I need to find my people but my advisors will try to keep me here if they find out that I plan on heading to the Free Marches.”

The dwarf nodded his head, smiling at the Inquisitor’s decision.  “Of course.  I’ll make sure they still think you’re in your room at least until you’re too far away to catch.  Want me to discreetly gather a few people to join you like Blackwall or Solas?”

“No, I think I have a better chance slipping out of here on my own.”

Varric laughed, “Cullen’s going to go ballistic when he finds out you left on your own.”

“Probably,” Kestrel snorted.

“Keep an eye out for Sparkles, will you?” Varric continued with a more serious tone.

“I…I better get going.  Thank you for your help,” the Inquisitor said, patting the dwarf’s shoulder before he cast stealth and slipped down the stairway.


	4. Chapter 4

Kestrel managed to make it outside of Skyhold without being detected.  He knew he could most likely find a horse along the road for enough coin.  Familiar with rapid travel and keeping hidden as a former Hunter of his Clan, he wrapped himself in his old elven cloak and pulled the hood over his face.  Once at a safe distance away to pause, he shed his shoes that he wore around Skyhold, finding them cumbersome and noisy.  He instead donned the wraps most elves wore around the arches of their feet that continued up to the mid-calf area.  Stopping by a puddle along the side of the road, he assessed his appearance.  His hood successfully covered his Mythal vallaslin that decorated his forehead and it darkened his normally piercing blue eyes.  Satisfied that he looked more Dalish and less Inquisitor, he set out for the Waking Sea, knowing he’d need to cross it before finding his people.

 

* * *

 

 

He found a fast ship in the Orlais city of Jader traveling to the Nevarra city of Cumberland.  Keeping to himself and using his coin to purchase supplies along the way, the only thing that slowed him down was the distance he had to cover. It took a few weeks of rough travel to reach the last known destination of the Inquisition’s scouting party.  He didn’t stop to check-in with the group once he realized they still hadn’t located his people.  Knowing they were nearing the Imperial Highway and time was running short before the slavers had a clear path home, he pushed on ahead of the small contingent of soldiers.  It was only another two days before he reached the slow moving group while they were setting up camp for the night.

He stealthily scooted around the perimeter and assessed the situation.  The men were separated from the women and children who we held in smaller groups chained together by their ankles.  The men were encumbered with additional shackles around their wrists and forced into two single lines.  Both groups together consisted of at least 50 Dalish.  There were at least 10 Tevinter slavers that Kestrel could see mingling with their captives and another 10 who patrolled the perimeter of their camp.  A small tent draped in decadent fabrics stood in the middle of group and indicated someone of higher rank was here.

A sharp, feminine cry resonated from the pavilion, echoed by a deep merciless laugh.  “Take her back to the other knife-ears!” shouted a voice, followed by a resounding slap of skin on skin.  A guard exited the tent, hauling a diminutive elven woman by the arm.  He lifted her up with his grip when she stumbled, feet leaving the ground and eliciting another yelp of pain.  Kestrel quickly nestled an arrow in his bow, aiming at the guard.  He felt confident that he could hit and kill the man from this distance without harming the elf.  However he remembered he would have at least 19 other slavers plus their boss to contend with and slowly eased off the string of his bow.

Exhaling silently, he crouched down biding his time until the night grew darker and he had memorized the path of the patrols in and around camp.  His first plan of action was to free one of his people who could explain what happened.  Then he would double back to the Inquisition troops to figure out how to take on the slavers without getting his people harmed.  He had spotted his target of rescue: another Hunter from his Clan, dubbed Owl, who was always watching the guards around him.  He had the added benefit of being on the end of one of the lines of male slaves and therefore easier to free.

Kestrel waited until the next wave of guards passed before casting stealth and slipping past enemy lines.  He silently settled next to Owl whose eyes had already spotted him despite the camouflage.  The other elf vigorously shook his head as Kestrel reached for the shackles around his ankles.  “Don’t touch-“ he warned in a harsh whisper but his warning came too late for the Inquisitor.  As soon as his fingers contacted the metal, a shock reverberated through him, removing his stealth and flinging him off his feet.  He landed on his back and was immediately surrounded before passing out.


	5. Chapter 5

He was jolted awake by a backhanded blow that threw him to his side.

“Ah, nice of you to join us, Inquisitor,” said the same voice as earlier as a strong hand seized his hair and pulled him back to his knees.  Kestrel blinked back the pain and the brightness that assaulted his eyes when he tried to open them.  An acute bolt of pain lanced through his head with the effort. 

“Ugh…” he groaned, not comprehending why he couldn’t bring his hands from behind him to help him balance on his knees.  It finally registered his hands were bound behind him.  When he struggled to rise, one of the guards kicked Kestrel in the back of the knee, forcing the elf to drop back to a kneeling position.

An older man came into focus and Kestrel pegged him as the one who had spoken.  He was dressed in an ivory silk robe adorned with a multitude of golden stitch work.  Small gems embroidered into the fabric only added to its extravagance.  One belt around his middle was all that kept the garment mostly closed.

 “I was beginning to wonder if you’d show to save your people,” he continued as he closed the distance between them.  “Corypheus said I could add you to my collection if you decided to appear.”  He paused and Kestrel could feel the man’s muddy brown eyes assessing him like a piece of meat.  “Hmm…I think you’ll do quite nicely once you finish your training.”

“I will never be your slave, _shem_.  I’d sooner die,” Kestrel growled out, irritated that he was forced to look up at the man.

“Please, you will refer to me as Magister Immanis Anguis for the time being until we have ‘Master’ drilled into you.”  He condescendingly patting the elf on the cheek before continuing, “And I suppose you would rather die.  I’m not known for being kind to my slaves.  Fortunately my trainers are very good at breaking without killing.” 

“The Inquisition will come for me.  Even in Tevinter.”

“And the Inquisition will be forced to kneel before Tevinter as you are in front of me.  Poetic, isn’t it?” hummed the Magister as he lightly ran his fingers through the elf’s hair.

“ _Art u na’din_ ,” Kestrel cursed in elven, spitting with disgust to the side.

The Magister shifted his gaze to the guards with a frown as he commanded, “Pull him up on his feet.  I think this knife-ear needs to have a lesson on what’s to be his future.”

“Of course, Magister,” said the guards in unison.  Kestrel was hauled unceremoniously to his feet by the two guards that flanked him and the Tevinter’s hand pulling on his hair.  Tears blurred his vision but he held back a cry, not willing to give the Magister the satisfaction of hearing his pain.  With his watery senses, Kestrel spotted a fourth man who silently stood to the side and slightly behind the man in charge.  He recognized his robes as Venatori.  Probably a mage.  His attention was immediately drawn back to the Magister when he uttered, “Strip him of his cloak, coat and shirt.”  He smirked at the elf’s startled expression.  The guards used extremely sharp daggers to slice through the various layers of leather and fabric, tossing pieces to the side.

 “Now this-” he said, running his fingertips down Kestrel’s exposed chest, summoning an involuntary shudder from him, “-this is why I went hunting for your clan of forest elves.  Your people are becoming so rare in the markets these days.  Best you can normally find are the ones from the alienages but their features are so muddled…

“Your people will earn top coin. Well worth the trek to Wycome and back.  You really shouldn’t have pissed off Corypheus, Inquisitor,” Immanis murmured, hand lingering at the top of the elf’s pants, eyes on him waiting for a reaction.  Disappointed that the elf remained stoic, he continued speaking as his hand continued caressing the other’s stomach, “Corypheus found the one kink in your armor.  Your companions at your fort are untouchable at this time but your family of knife-ears wasn’t.  His Venatori agents tracked down the one liaison that ventured out of the woods to Wycome and tortured him until the camp’s location was provided.  That information was provided my group of slavers and, well, here we are.”

That information broke his facade.  Dorian hadn’t betrayed him.  He hadn’t given the location of his Clan to Tevinter.  Kestrel closed his eyes as he trembled, trying to hold back the emotions that assaulted him.

“Yes, I see you’re coming to understand that all hope is lost for you,” hissed Immanis lustfully, turned on by the other man’s pain.  The Inquisitor didn’t even notice that a tear had escaped but the Magister did.  He grabbed the elf’s chin and caught the tear with his tongue, following its path up his cheek.

“Mmm...such exquisite angular features.  Even your knife-ear tattoo adds to your exoticness,” he purred as he stroked the elf’s jawline with his thumb.  Kestrel tensed at the other man’s touch, finding his callused fingers abhorrent and planning on doing whatever he needed to to break free.

The Venatori’s hand came into view and rested on the Magister’s shoulder, interrupting the Inquisitor’s thought.  The mage’s hooded head leaned in and whispered into Immanis’ ear.  Although Kestrel tried, he couldn’t make out what was said.  “Hmm...yes, yes, you’re right,” mumbled the Magister to the Venatori.  He sighed and returned his attention to the Inquisitor.  His eyes dropped to the elf’s mouth before he spoke.  “You have no idea how much I’d love to fuck that pretty little mouth of yours right now…”  He huffed and lifted his gaze, clearly displeased. “...however, our Venatori friend here has reminded me that I need to bind you to me first per my agreement with Corypheus.  Just in case something separates us, you’ll never be able to get too far without suffering excruciating pain.  Business first, then pleasure, I suppose,” Immanis grumbled as he lowered his hand from Kestrel’s jaw.

“Bind me?”  The Inquisitor was proud at how steady his voice sounded.

“Yes.  Though not as kinky as it sounds unfortunately.  Just some blood magic to tie you to me.”  The Magister withdrew a short, curved blade from his belt and ran his finger along the edge.  As the weaponized hand neared Kestrel, the elf pulled against his restraints, searching for any weakness.  “Now, now, you must stay still so I don’t cut too deep,” he chastised with a tsk of his tongue, glancing at the guards on either side.  They followed his unspoken command and each placed a hand on the elf’s shoulders and upper arms to still him.

The Magister slowly drew the blade along the flesh right below the elf’s collarbone.  Kestrel inhaled sharply but made no other noise.  Blood started to flow freely, dribbling over his chest and down his stomach.  Immanis groaned at the sight, eyes fixated on the blood.  He hastily undid his belt and cast off his robe, revealing how excited he truly was.  Firmly grasping the Inquisitor’s ass with one hand, the Magister pulled the rigid elf against him as he bowed his head to lap up the trickle of blood oozing from his chest.  The Venatori chanted some spell in the background and all Kestrel could think about was never seeing Dorian again, doing his best to tune out the rest.

The Magister leaned back with a satisfied grin, exposing his bloody teeth.  “Now it’s your turn,” he crooned, bringing his blade up to the same spot on his chest.

“Magister Anguis, you have a visitor,” interrupted a guard at the entrance of the tent.

The man arched an eyebrow as he gruffly said, “A visitor at this hour and out here?”  He sheathed his blade and donned his robe which the Venatori already had available in an outstretched hand.  “Let them in,” he grumbled, frowning at the interruption.

“Magister Immanis Anguis!” exclaimed a familiar voice as he swept past the flaps of the awning.  He bowed before the older man with a flourish, right leg kicked out in front of him to deepen the bow.  As he rose, his eyes darted briefly to the prisoner.  Surprise flashed in his gray eyes as he recognized Kestrel.  They also picked up on the bloody trail down his chest.  He coughed into his hand to cover his shock before turning back to the Magister with a forced grin, face flushed and jaw clenched.

“Altus Pavus!  I certainly didn’t expect to meet you out here.”

“Please, Magister Anguis, call me Dorian,” he said in a sickenly sweet voice, forcing himself to breathe out his anger.

“Of course, Dorian.  Now, as you can see, I’m a little busy at the moment.  What can I do for you?” he said curtly, too caught up in his captive to notice the other’s tension.

“I see rumors were true that you were going after _him_ ,” Dorian said, briefly making eye contact with the Inquisitor as he gestured at him.

“Ah yes, you noticed my new prize.  Quite hard to miss despite his filthy countenance.”  The Magister ran a finger along Kestrel’s ear while smiling at Dorian.  The elf shuddered at the man’s touch.  “But that still doesn’t answer my question.”

Dorian cleared his throat, tearing his eyes away from Kestrel, “Yes, I apologize, Magister.  I had heard you were going after the Inquisitor’s clan and, apparently the Inquisitor himself.  I wanted to offer my services.”

“Well, as you can see, your services are not needed, Altus.  How did you know about my venture anyway?” he questioned calmly but Dorian noticed the guard’s hands shifted to their swords.

“Oh, you know, this and that,” he evasively replied with a friendly wink and grin at the Magister.

At that moment the Venatori leaned in and started to whisper into Immanis’ ear again.  Kestrel looked worriedly at Dorian, knowing he was in trouble.  Who knew how much information had reached Tevinter about their relationship but the Venatori wasn’t buying Dorian’s act.

Dorian noticed the quiet conversation too and cleared his throat.  “How do you know he’s the Inquisitor and not just an elven spy sent by their Spy Master?  Surely his advisors wouldn’t let him leave on his own.  I mean, he looks like what I’ve heard but I find it really hard to believe that’s him,” Dorian said doubtfully, approaching Kestrel with a raised eyebrow.  He stepped between the Magister and the elf, as he pretended to skeptically assess him.

“He’s already confirmed he’s the Inquisitor,” answered Immanis, scowling at the criticism of his catch.

“My good man, of course he has!  Isn’t that what a spy would say so that you stop looking for the real Inquisitor?” Dorian reached out to touch Kestrel’s bloody collar bone right above the incision with his forefinger while the Magister pondered his question.  The elf felt a brief flash of magic warm the area and his bleeding stopped.  Dorian spun around to face the Magister just as he sensed the attention to his finger on the captive.  He licked his finger to straighten his moustache out of habit, nose wrinkling in disgust at the surprise taste of blood.  Remembering its source, he smiled against the anger burning inside of him.

“I know the best way to confirm it’s the Inquisitor,” he whispered conspiratorially.

“And what’s that?”

“His hand,” rasped the Venatori, startling them all with the fact that he said something aloud and had slinked closer without either of them noticing.

“Yes...your creepy friend stole my thunder but he has it right.  I heard the Inquisitor has a tear in his hand that can close the rifts to the fade.”

The Magister brushed Dorian aside as he moved behind the Inquisitor, doubt already working on him, and roughly tugged at the elf’s hands.  What remained of Kestrel’s shirt and jacket had bunched up around the ropes that bound his wrists, making it impossible to get a clear view of his palms.  With a grunt, the Magister used his dagger to cut through the ties.

Everyone was focused on the Inquistor’s hands and not the look at he exchanged with Dorian.  It begged forgiveness and Dorian’s promised escape.

“Ah-ha!  See?  This is the Inquisitor!” Immanis exclaimed, holding up Kestrel’s hand in triumph, exposing the jagged scar that pulsed a faint, sickly green.  The curved blade was held haphazardly in between the Magister’s pinkie and ring finger while the infected hand was pinched between his forefinger and thumb.

The Inquisitor’s disfigurement crackled and flashed, startling Immanis into releasing his hand and fumbling with the dagger.  Recognizing his opportunity, Kestrel didn’t waste a second.  He grabbed the Magister’s hand with both of his, forcing it around the handle of the blade.  Using all of his strength, he shoved their hands back and up, right into Immanis’ throat.  Blood gushed forth and the man fell with a gurgle, pulling the elf down with him.

Dorian was equally opportunistic and withdrew his own dagger and rammed it into the Venatori who was hovering behind him.  The blade slid in easily up to the hilt since the mage wore no armor. 

The guards sprung into action, drawing their blades.  One went for the Inquisitor and the other squared off against Dorian.  Dorian just grinned as his hands wove a brief spell.  The guard realized his mistake of trying to pit sword against magic a second before he burst into flames.

Kestrel was so completely engrossed in repeatedly stabbing the already-dead Magister that he failed to notice the guard charging at him from behind.  Dorian flung out his hand with another spell that froze the man in place.  The tip of his sword was only an inch from the Inquisitor’s back before the ice and man contained within shattered into thousands of pieces.

Dorian stood silently torn between guarded the entrance and comforting the Inquisitor as the other man collected himself.  He had stopped impaling Immanis and remained straddling the body, hunched over and trembling.

“ _Amatus_ …” Dorian spoke softly, taking a hesitant step forward.

Kestrel turned his head to him upon hearing the term of endearment.  His face was oddly clean but his bare chest was red in the other man’s gore.  His expression was blank.  His eyes shifted to behind his partner, widening as he tracked movement.  “Dorian!” he shouted in warning but it was too late.  The Venatori speared Dorian with a hidden blade, using the last of his life on vengeance.

“Well, that definitely smarts,” he jested before his face paled with pain.

Kestrel scrambled into his feet as he noticed Dorian’s knees give way, bare feet slipping on the blood pooling on the rugs beneath him.  He managed to reach him before he hit the floor, pulling the Tevinter close.  His fingers warmed with the blood seeping from the fresh wound.

“Y-You know what?” muttered Dorian, gray eyes finding Kestrel’s.  He was quickly draining of his blood and warmth and the elf tore his gaze away to the Venatori’s body.  Spotting what he needed, he used one hand to tear whatever fabric he could gather from the cadaver, pressing it against Dorian’s wound.

“What, _ma vhenan_?” Ketrel murmured, lovingly stroking his cheek, not observing he left a blood smear behind.

“I’m too...pretty to die,” he barely whispered with a faint smirk, eyes closing as he struggled to cough.  Crimson appeared on his lips.

The Inquisitor made a noise that vacillated between a laugh and a cry as tears welled up in his eyes.  “You most definitely are,” he agreed with a sad smile as he leaned over to kiss Dorian.  Tasting iron, he felt the mage’s body go limp in his arms.  He stayed hunched over the man in his arms, tears streaming down his face.

“Boss!” shouted a voice as a large hand roughly shook his shoulder.  “Shit, Dorian...?  Dalish, get your ass in here pronto!”

Kestrel pulled Dorian’s body closer as he felt hands try to separate them. 

“Boss, it’s just us.  We’re here to help.”

Kestrel finally registered the familiar voice and looked up at the Qunari towering over him.  “Iron Bull?  W-What are…” he stammered, clearly distraught and having difficulty focusing on anything besides the man in his arms.

“I hate to do this to you, Boss, but Dalish needs to get a good look at Dorian and you’re kind of in her way,” Iron Bull said gently. 

A much smaller figure appeared from behind the Qunari and knelt besides the bloody pair, fingers resting on the Tevinter’s neck.  “Yes, there’s still life in him.  Roll him onto his side so I can reach the wound,” she ordered before her eyes flashed up to Kestrel’s and a soft blush crept across her cheeks. “If you’d be so kind, Inquisitor,” she added.

The elf’s words seem to bring a spark of life back to Kestrel.  He nodded his head and carefully maneuvered Dorian onto his side, head cradled in his lap.

Dalish hesitated when she noticed the Inquistor’s now exposed bloodied chest, glancing up at Iron Bull.

“Boss, is that your blood?”

“No.  Please...please save him,” he begged, looking from Iron Bull to Dalish.  The elf didn’t need any more prompting.  She lowered both hands to Dorian’s wound and closed her eyes.  Her vallaslin on her forehead crinkled as she concentrated, a bright glow emanating from her hands.  Kestrel ran his fingers through Dorian’s hair almost hearing him complain he was messing it up.  Dalish broke out into a sweat and the glow stuttered.  Iron Bull placed an encouraging hand on her shoulder and the healing light brightened.

After several more moments, she released a long breath as if she’d been holding it during the entire process and the light died.  She removed her hands and sat back on her heels as Dorian’s chest lifted for the first time in what seemed like forever.  “I’ve done what I can.  He’s lost a lot of blood but, Dirthamen willing, he should pull through with a lot of rest.  Please realize that when using magic to heal, it’s essentially like getting stitches from the surgeon.  Any sudden movements until the repair has strengthened can reopen the wound.”

Kestrel nodded his head at Dalish, and shifted his eyes to Iron Bull.

Without verbal prompting, he started talking, “Dorian was smart enough not to travel alone, unlike some it looks like.”  The Qunari arms crossed over his chest before continuing, “Dorian had a plan to pretend like he needed slaves for a new estate in the south and wanted to purchase them before they made it to the Tevinter markets.  He was going to take out the boss while we waited for the signal before attacking the slavers.  When that signal didn’t come, I made an executive decision to move in.  I can now understand what threw off his pla-”

“Chief,” interrupted Krem, entering the tent.  He looked around, taking in the scene before looking to the Qunari.  “The slavers have been taken care of.  The elves are free.  All in all, a good day’s work.”

“Yes, we appreciate your assistance,” spoke a soft voice behind Krem.  He startled and quickly moved out of the way as a tall, female elf walked by.  Long, blonde hair and fine features were complimented by her intricately decorated leather jerkin.

Habit drilled into him was the only thing that made him react as Kestrel muttered “Keeper Istimaethoriel.” He didn't even feel torn between continuing to hold the unconscious Dorian or standing with respect before his Clan leader. 

“Hunter,” she acknowledged, not reacting to his lack of deference.

Iron Bull offered a hand to Dalish, noticing she was trying to get out of the way of the Keeper.  She struggled to her feet with obvious effort, bowed before the Keeper, and stumbled to Krem’s arm who supported her out of the tent. 

Kestrel’s body started to tremble as the shock of the evening caught up to him.  The Qunari shifted uncomfortably on his feet, unsure how to proceed.  Fortunately, the elven leader helped him.  The Keeper shifted her green gaze to Iron Bull, presenting an unspoken request with a quick tilt of her head to Dorian’s form.

Agreeing with the entreaty with relief, the Qunari knelt by the Inquisitor, carefully rolling Dorian into his arms.  Kestrel’s eyes went wild for a second as the man’s head left his lap but the Keeper’s delicate hand on his shoulder helped him settle.  Iron Bull cradled Dorian against his chest and carefully maneuvered him out of the tent.  The Inquisitor’s eyes stayed on the mage until he disappeared out of sight.

Finally alone, the Keeper sat before Kestrel and cupped both sides of his face, leaning her forehead in to touch Kestrel’s.  The elf’s shaking body seemed to quiet under her touch but a dull headache disturbed him.

“Tell me what troubles you, Hunter,” Istimaethoriel requested.

“Keeper, I’ve failed.  I failed to protect you, I failed to protect the Clan...I-I was useless and was almost captured myself,” the Inquisitor whispered, stifling a shudder.

“You are no longer responsible for us, _da’len_.  You are a leader of your own people now.  And, as a leader, you must recognize your Inquisition is only strong when you work together.  When your people appeared - those that follow you with loyalty and without question - you succeeded.  I know the independence that made you strong as my Hunter has served you well, but you must learn to work with those who support you, those that believe in you.  As the Inquisitor, you are going up against stronger foes than the occasional poacher in our woods and need the full support of those around you.”

Eyes downcast, Kestrel sighed, “You are wise as always, Keeper.”

Istimaethoriel gently squeezed his face, murmuring, “I can tell that’s not all that’s bothering you.”

“I-I failed to protect _him_.  Because of me, Dorian was almost killed and I...I’ve ruined what we had.”

“You failed to trust your Tevinter friend, Kestrel.  That’s what led to him getting hurt.  He felt he had to prove himself to you.  Trusting someone with your heart is even more difficult and instinctively you can find reasons to doubt them just to protect yourself.”

“I-That’s not what this is, Keeper,” the Inquisitor said quickly, cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

Istimaethoriel chuckled and leaned back, staring into Kestrel’s eyes.  “Are you certain, Hunter?  Perhaps you’re so used to hunting that you don’t realize what you caught.  Talk to him when he’s healed.  A man who doesn’t feel the same as you do would certainly not have traveled this far to save a group of people he knows nothing about.” 

“ _Ma serannas, ma melava halani_ ,” the Inquisitor breathed as he bowed his head in reverence.

The Keeper leaned in and kissed both of Kestrel’s temples where his vallaslin ended. “ _Dareth shiral_ , Inquisitor.” 

“ _Dareth shiral_ , Keeper Istimaethoriel,” he returned.

She silently stood and exited the tent, leaving Kestrel behind with his thoughts.


	6. Chapter 6

Eager to depart, the Inquisition and elves worked together to gather the bodies and equipment of the slavers before setting them on fire.  No one outside of the two groups would ever know what happened here.

The Inquisitor had briefly considered asking the Keeper to return to Skyhold with them but knew she would never accept such an offer.  Kestrel was reserved and kept mostly to himself as they parted ways, still embarrassed by being caught despite Istimaethoriel’s encouraging words.  He was also still working through her other words of wisdom.

 

* * *

 

 

The journey back was a quick one.  Dalish and Iron Bull had approached the Inquisitor the first time Dorian started to stir with a suggestion.  Knowing how rambunctious he typically was and that he would not appreciate staying still, they wanted to keep him sedated for the length of the trip as he continued to heal.  Kestrel was quick to agree since it meant he had more time before they would have to speak.  The closer they neared Skyhold, the more his dread grew. 

Iron Bull and the Chargers had agreed to leave the tale up to the Inquisitor.  The rest of the Inquisition would only know of what was disclosed which he appreciated.  He knew Cullen would chastise him for leaving without a proper guard, other sovereignties be damned, Josephine would follow him around until she was certain he was as fine as he said he was, and Leliana would...he had no idea what she would do.  But she probably already knew the details of what happened.  Those were not the thoughts that tormented him into sleepless nights and nightmarish daydreams and left him with a consistent headache.

If he did love Dorian, how could he have possibly have accused him of betrayal?  What if he had forever ruined what they had and the potential of what they might be?  And the worst one - what if Dorian didn’t want him back? 

 

* * *

 

 

They didn’t even make it through the gates of Skyhold before they were bombarded by Cullen.  Kestrel motioned for the Chargers to continue on with waking-and-starting-to-complain Dorian while he waited for Cullen, his headache growing.

The elf waited for him, closing his eyes against the increasing discomfort in his head.

“Inquisitor?” questioned the Commander, suddenly right next to him.

Realizing the pain had kept his eyes closed, Kestrel blinked and struggled to speak against the pounding of his skull.

“Is your Clan okay?” Cullen asked, eyes darting over the Inquisitor as he did a silent assessment of their leader.  “Inquisitor?  ...Are you alright?”

“It’s just this damned headache…” Kestrel grounded out as he pressed his palms against his temples, rubbing in slow circles.

“Hmph, at least you made it back in one piece,” the Commander started to reprimand.

It felt like the Inquisitor was struck with a bolt of lightning.  He cried out and toppled from his newly acquired horse, curling into a fetal position clutching his head before passing out.

“Inquisitor!” Cullen exclaimed out in alarm. 

“Tormented by if’s and what’s but that’s not what causes his pain.  He needs him.  He’s bound to him,” murmured Cole, appearing suddenly as was his tendency.

“Maker’s breath, don’t speak in riddles now, Cole!  Tell me who he needs!  Who is he bound to?” shouted Cullen.

“Dorian,” whispered Cole before disappearing.

Not understanding what was happened, that didn’t stop the Commander from acting.  He scooped the elf into his arms and headed towards the keep which was the last place he had seen the Chargers heading with the Tevinter.  Bursting through the entryway with Kestrel groaning in his arms, he boomed, “Where’s Dorian?”  The entire hall fell silent, all eyes on him.

Varric perked up in his usual spot by the fireplace, noticing something was clearly wrong.  “Tiny took him up to the Inquisitor’s room.”

Without another word, Cullen dashed to the door to the tower.  The guards scrambled to get it open in time.  He didn’t slow down until he burst into the Inquisitor's room and cleared the last set of stairs, much to Dorian and Bull’s surprise who had been right in the middle of a conversation.  Breathing heavily with the exertion of running + heavy armor + extra weight + stairs, he didn’t let that keep him from gently lowering Kestrel onto the bed.  He stumbled back a few steps and settled into the loveseat to catch his breath.

“What happened?” asked Iron Bull as Dorian moved to the Inquisitor’s side, reaching out with his magic.

“Cole...Cole said that he needed to be near you, Dorian,” Cullen gasped out.

“Why that’s quite flattering but there’s hardly a need to run him up here like that,” chided the mage, frowning.

“He said something about you being bound and he was in a lot of pain,” he continue, voice sounding more steady.

“No…that can’t be.  I didn’t-” Dorian stopped suddenly, casting hand trembling before curling into a fist.  “The blood... _Vishante kaffas_! ...the blood.”

“Vint, you’re making no sense right now,”  grumbled Iron Bull.

“Yes, I’d appreciate you letting us in on what you know to be impacting the Inquisitor.”

Dorian’s face paled.  “I-I need to sit down,” he stuttered as he plopped down on the bed.

“What happened?” Cullen asked again, patience wearing thin.

“It’s blood magic,” Dorian started and the Commander jumped to his feet, hand on hilt of his sword.  “I didn’t cast it!” he snapped at the man’s reaction.  Cullen relaxed slightly but kept his hand in place.

“It’s a spell that Magisters sometimes use on their...prized slaves.  The Magister Anguis or the Venatori must of cast it but not completed the exchange of blood.  But I don’t know how we…” he trailed off, looking down at the finger that had healed Kestrel then he brought it up to his lower lip, remembering their kiss before he faded.

“Well, it’s a spell.  It has to be breakable,” said Cullen.

“Ah...yes, there is that.  However only blood magic can break a spell cast with blood magic and I don’t…”  Dorian glanced at the Inquisitor who appeared to be sleeping peacefully now.

The Commander huffed in frustration, running his finger through his hair as he rested his elbows on his knees.  He couldn’t in good conscious force Dorian to do blood magic just as the Inquisitor hadn’t forced him to continue taking lyrium.  “Any other options?  You two can’t be by each other’s side indefinitely.”

“Well, they weren’t doing a bad job of that before all of this,” commented Iron Bull with a grin, nudging Dorian with his elbow.

“Haha, yes.  However I fear things may have changed,” replaced the mage, twisting his moustache out of nervous habit.

“As I was saying before, Dorian, you two need to talk.  Come, Commander, I could use some ale and they need some time alone.”

“You will update me with any new information,” commanded Cullen, glaring at the Tevinter as Iron Bull dragged him out of the room.

Dorian yawned in response, the use of magic and the remnants of the sedatives making him suddenly drowsy.  “I will do whatever’s necessary to set you free, _amatus_ ,” he promised.


	7. Chapter 7

The Inquisitor woke many hours later, surprised to find himself in his own bed in Skyhold.  His mind tried to piece together how he had ended up in his room with little success.  At least his head no longer hurt.  A sleepy mutter drew his attention to the foot of his overly extravagant Orlais bed.  Dorian was slouched against the foot board, bare chested with one leg tucked under him and the other hanging off the side of the bed.  Kestrel smiled when he spotted the man’s shirt on the ground.  It was the rags the Chargers had dressed him in while he was sedated and he wasn’t surprised Dorian had cast it off the first second he had his wits about him again.  He, on the other hand, was still fully clothed and dressed in his traveling clothes so he deduced that not much time had passed since they arrived back at Skyhold.

Afraid of waking Dorian, Kestrel decided to stay in bed and watch him sleep while he pondered over what he needed to say.  Unfortunately he wasn’t allowed much time before the mage stirred. 

He raised his arms above his head to stretch, wincing and quickly lowering them when the movement pulled on his wound.

“Does it hurt?” he asked.

“Ah!  Kestrel.  You’re awake, I see.  It’s a little tender but seeing as I was stabbed in the back only a week ago, it’s too be expected,” replied Dorian.

“Can I see?”  Kestrel sat up expectantly.

“I suppose.”  He lowered his other leg to the ground and turned his back to the Inquisitor.

The elf’s eyes appraised the man’s caramel-colored skin before easily locating the jagged mark on his otherwise flawless back.

“How does it look?” Dorian questioned, looking over his shoulder at Kestrel.

“Hmm...there’s definitely a scar,” he answered, eyes lowered as two fingers lightly brushing over the area without even thinking.

“That’s...unfortunate,” commented the mage, as his back straightened with the touch.

“I think it adds character.  No one can be too perfect, you know,” jested Kestrel, removing his hand and meeting Dorian’s gaze with a grin.

“I beg to differ.  I try quite hard to be perfect and now some Venatori has gone and ruined that for me,” he rebuked jokingly, turning around to face the elf.

In that moment, both of them wished they could continue with the way things were before the last month but there was too much left unsaid which dampened the mood.  They held each other’s gaze for a moment before looking away - Kestrel fiddling with the sheet and Dorian picking with disgust at the plain cotton pants he had on. 

His sigh finally broke the silence as he said softly, “Kes, do you know what a binding spell is?”

“...somewhat.  The...Magister was planning on using one to bind me to him.  He said I would suffer excruciating pain if I traveled too far away from him.  But I never drank his blood so it didn’t work,” the elf answered hesitantly, shivering at the thought of what might have been.

“Unfortunately that’s not 100 percent accurate.  The last part, that is.”

“Even if I did manage to ingest some of his blood while I was stabbing him, he’s dead.  He has no hold over me.  Plus, I’m not in any pain and we’re leagues away from him.”

Dorian nodded his head in agreement, “True.  You’re not bound to him.  But...you see…”  The mage rolled his eyes upward in frustration, looking for the right words.  “Blood magic is powerful and unless the spell is intentionally cancelled, it can linger until the conditions are met.  You and me, we exchanged blood in that tent, Kestrel.”

Dorian watched silently as his words registered on the elf’s face.

“The headaches…I’m bound to _you_ ,” he whispered, voice sounding strangled.  Tears welled up in his eyes which he struggled to hold back.  Unsuccessful, he looked away from the mage, embarrassed.

Dorian quickly said, “I’ll find the blood magic spell I need to to set you free.  I won’t keep you bound to me.”

Kestrel turned back to the Tevinter, teary blue eyes wide with surprise.  “But you don’t use blood magic, Dorian.  And I would never ask that of you, especially knowing that’s one of things that you loathe the most.  It’s just...this happens after I’ve ruined everything for us.  I didn’t trust you and accused you of using me and I was all wrong.  Now we’re bound and must remain close when I’m sure you want nothing to do with me.  I’m sorry for all of the trouble that I’ve caused you.”

Dorain remained quiet, holding the elf’s gaze with a neutral expression.  His life in Tevinter made him skilled as using masks to hide his real feelings.  Finally, he asked, “What does ‘ _ma vhenan_ ’ mean?”

“What?  Where did you hear that?” replied a shocked Inquisitor, the question unexpected.  He had anticipated being yelled at or laughed at but the mage continued to surprise him.

“You called me that when I was dying in your arms.”

“I-I did?  I didn’t even realize…” Kestrel trailed off as he suddenly realized what he’d known all along, a sad smile on his lips.  “I suppose it doesn’t matter now.”

“I’d like to know the meaning, if you please,” Dorian repeated.

Kestrel felt his ears flush as he confessed, “It means ‘my heart’.”

“Say it for me,” murmured the mage.

“Alright... _ma vhenan_ ,” he repeated as the blush spread to his cheeks, confused.

Dorian burst into a grin before eagerly closing the gap between them, leaning in to cover Kestrel’s lips with his.  The elf sagged in relief against him, returning the kiss with pent-up passion.  Dorian’s hand cupped Kestrel’s cheek as he deepened the kiss, tongue slipping into the other’s mouth to claim what was his.  The Inquisitor ran his hands along the man’s bare chest before lightly pushing against him, asking for a moment.  Their lips parted, leaving both men flushed and impatient for more.

“I’ve waited too long for that, _amatus_ ,” purred Dorian with a wicked smirk.

“You forgive me?  Even after what I said?”

“You feel the same way as I feel for you, Kes.  How could I refuse your apology?” he said as his hand dropped to the elf’s crotch, rubbing suggestively.

Kestrel gasped, back arching with need.  “You are an evil magister…” he growled out.

“Mmm...I never said I wasn’t,” Dorian teased before pushing the Inquisitor onto his back and kissing him again.


End file.
